


Nothing Ventured

by Jougetsu



Category: The Venture Bros
Genre: Christmas, Domesticity, Gen, More or Less Season 7 Compliant, Multi, No Spoilers, Slice of Life, holiday fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-18
Updated: 2018-12-18
Packaged: 2019-09-21 21:02:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17050520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jougetsu/pseuds/Jougetsu
Summary: A lot of people would think Christmas would always be an unmitigated disaster in the home of a dysfunctional super scientist and family. Dean Venture is happy to report that those people would be wrong.Or four Christmases that went surprisingly well.





	Nothing Ventured

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maeve_of_Winter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maeve_of_Winter/gifts).



> Maeve, your letter was a delight from start to finish! I loved every single one of your prompts and only wish I had had the time to write you even more gifts! Here is some Venture family fluff with a dash of Season 5 Emo Dean and a sprinkle of Dean/Brown Widow.
> 
> Happy Yuletide! Thank you for giving me this opportunity to write for these characters I love so well! <3

***

_Venture (v) - A shortened form of “adventure.” Early 15th century._

**AGE 6**

***

 

When Dean was old enough to realize that names meant more than just “come here” and “that means you” he wanted to know what his name meant. It looked so important on the glittery, shiny cards that came in the mail and on the gift tags of the presents under the Christmas tree.

“Dean derives from a Greek word,” Dad puffed out his chest. “Just like your old man’s name does. However, yours comes from ‘Dekanos’ which was the title of a monk in charge of ten others. To this day it has connotations of leadership and dignity.”

Which was a bit more than a seven year old could handle. Dean knew that monks wore robes and all lived together in spooky castles and usually were bald like Dad. He didn’t really see how that was a great name unless you liked spooky castles.

For the record Dean loved spooky castles, but only when they were featured in Giant Boy Detective Books or old timey movies when it was very very obvious the monsters were fake.

Hank didn’t care what Hank meant. Or what Henry Allen meant.

“And what does Venture mean?” Dean persisted even though it was awfully tough to ignore that Hank was building a really great fort for the action figures out of cereal boxes Brock had graciously cut little windows and doors into.

“It means bravery! It’s part of the word ‘adventure’ after all.” Dad ruffled Dean’s hair. He did that sometimes, when he was all smiles after eggnog, and the Monarch hadn’t bugged them too recently. “You and Hank are real chips off the old block. You’re boy adventurers already and one day you’ll be super scientists like your old man.” Another swig of eggnog. “And your grandfather.”

“I’m not going to be a super scientist!” Hank announced loudly, probably too loudly considering they were all within a few feet of each other in the living room. “I’m going to grow up to be a super soldier like Brock!”

Brock laughed. Maybe it wasn’t nice, but Dean thought Brock had a nicer laugh than Dad. Brock’s laugh had a jolly sound to it while Dad’s kind of went flat like he wasn’t having fun at all. “It’s a pretty tough job, Hankerino. You’ll have to eat all your vegetables and drink a lotta milk to get strong enough for OSI.”

Hank scrunched up his nose, which was funny to Dean because they didn’t look alike at all for twins but they had the exact same nose and scrunched it up in the exact same way like magic, and frowned. “Then I’m going to be Batman!”

“Batman has to eat his vegetables too, mister.” Dad looked over his eggnog glass at Brock and they did that thing grown ups do when they have a conversation with just their eyes. “And daddies need eggnog.”

Brock got up from the floor where he was sitting with Hank and bopped Dad with a pillow. Dean giggled because it was funny when Dad was surprised and made squealy noises like he was just as little as Hank and Dean.

“Too much eggnog ain’t good for either of us,” Brock wagged his finger at Dad once the pillow was gone. “I’ll make us hot cocoa. Dean, you want to join me on chef duty?”

“Yessir, Brock!” Dean scrambled off the couch and went tearing to the kitchen to get his apron. Chef duty was the best because Brock would let him sneak little treats like extra cheese when they made pizza or a handful of mini marshmallows when they made hot cocoa. And it was their secret ritual. “Chef Dean Venture reporting for duty.”

“Don’t let Dean get burnt by the stove,” Dad called out with a little frown.

It was only much later Dean learned that one of the dictionary definitions of Venture was to risk or to gamble.

 

*** 

_To venture upon (phrase) - To come upon someone or something by chance_

  **AGE 7**

***

 

“How can Santa bring us our presents if we’re stuck in the stupid panic room all night?” Hank was very close to wailing.

Dean was right there with him, only his wail was silent and currently taking the form of a wibbly-wobbly lip and hot eyes, but he was definitely not crying. Definitely. Not.

H.E.L.P.e.R. gave a cheerful trill that was supposed to be comforting, but neither Venture twin was having it.

“Look, boys.” Dad adjusted his glasses and then took out a pill from his pocket. He popped it in his mouth and swallowed hard. “Just go to sleep and when you wake up it’ll be Christmas.”

“No!” Hank stamped his foot and then yelped “Sugar honeyed iced tea!” when the pain registered. The panic room floor was much, much harder than the rest of the house.

“We can’t sleep, Dad,” Dean said. He wanted to sleep, really he did, but the panic room was miserable to sleep in even at the best of times. “It’s really loud out there.”

There were screams and howls and crashing, awful tearing sounds echoing everywhere outside. Dean couldn’t even tell which bad guys were in the lab and which ones were on the lawn and he desperately hoped none were in the living room.

“If they destroy our Christmas tree where will Santa drop off our presents?” Hank pouted the greatest pout in Venture family history. He balled up his fists and was ready to stomp up a storm. “Santa will think we think Christmas is for babies and won’t bring us presents anymore! EVER!”

Hank picked up Mr. Reachy and looked ready to throw him down.

“Hank, no! Not Mr. Reachy!” Dean got up to hug his brother and their beloved stuffed giraffe. “Mr. Reachy didn’t do anything wrong.”

“ ‘M angry, Dean,” Hank continued to pout. “Super duper angry! I just wanna throw something.”

“And I want a drink so none of us are getting what we want,” muttered Dad, who was trying to dab his chest with one of the scratchy emergency blankets.

“What if we build Mr. Reachy a tower with the ration cans?” Dean suggested. “A great big tower for him to be king of!”

“I bet we can make it taller than Dad,” Hank started to grin. He wiped his nose on the cuff of his Christmas sweater. “And boy, won’t Brock be surprised when he sees how tall we made it without his help!”

“Are you sure you boys don’t want to fall asleep? Santa can’t visit if you’re awake.” Dad sounded like he was really sleepy.

“Santa can’t visit if Brock is still outside killing bad guys,” Dean pointed out. Honestly, Dad could be so silly sometimes.

“Yeah!” Hank agreed. “Hey! If we make our tower in the shape of the tree maybe Santa will come to the panic room instead! So it doesn’t matter if the bad guys break the tree.”

Sometimes it wasn’t fun when Hank and him didn’t want play the same games, but most of the time Dean was ulta mega happy he had a twin brother. This was that time especially.

Really it was too bad Dad didn’t have a brother. He must’ve been awfully lonely before Brock came to live with them. He even looked lonely now as he curled up with the itchy blanket and leaned against H.E.LP.e.R.

Dean couldn’t remember how long he and Hank built their tower before they fell asleep (and Dad fell asleep way before them), but when they woke up they were in their jammies in their bedroom and Mr. Reachy had a big red ribbon around his neck.

“Hank, Hank wake up!” Dean opened the lid of Hank’s bed and hopped on the mattress. “Santa came! Santa came! And he gave Mr. Reachy a bow tie!”

“Our can tree worked!” Hank crowed once he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “And it smells like pancake breakfast!”

Brock and Dad were in the kitchen and it was indeed pancake breakfast. Brock had a black eye and an angry line of crooked stitches down his forearm, but he looked so happy that it probably didn’t hurt too much. “Merry Christmas, boys!”

“Brock saved the tree,” Dad explained. “And kept the rest of the super villains away for Santa to stop by before he went back to the North Pole.”

Dean didn’t like how pale and tired Dad looked, like he didn’t sleep at all, but Dad’s eyes were soft like they were trying to give Brock a hug.

“Brock saved Christmas!” Hank whooped and gave Brock the most crushing hug an almost eight year old could manage. Dean gave a gentler hug in light of the stitches and he placed Mr. Reach next to Dad’s plate.

“Look Dad, Santa gave Mr. Reachy a present, too,” Dean explained feeling inexplicably shy.

Then Dad ruffled Mr. Reachy’s head and Dean’s hair, that rare occurrence, and said, “I guess Santa heard about how brave he was in the panic room.”

 

*** 

_Venturesome (adj) - Willing to take unusual courses of action_

  **AGE 17**

***

 

What was Christmas anyway? What did any of it even mean when your memories weren’t even properly your own? Which was all a very roundabout way of saying that Dean Venture was not feeling the holiday spirit this year. Hank was enthusiastic as usual, because he didn’t have the burden of the awful awful knowledge Dean had.

Hank could decorate the tree and string the lights and bake cookies with a light heart. The only criticisms from Hank were something about “unifying the eclectic elements of the theme” or something. He and Dermott had been watching a lot of interior design shows recently for no reason Dean could fathom other than to heckle the shows or brainstorm a new business venture.

Come to think of it Hank Mart did pretty good for an isolated compound.

“I get that you’re going through something, Dean,” Hatred said solemnly as he handed Dean a bowl of flavored popcorn. “But for pete’s sake it’s Christmas, you can forget your troubles for one day, can’t you? I hate to see you like this.”

“It’s not exactly something I can turn on and off.” Dean accepted the popcorn as the peace offering it was. He had to admit Hatred’s Christmas popcorn was too good to spurn even in existential despair.

“Wait ‘til you’re twenty-one.” Dad poured himself another eggnog, which this year he had doctored with maple syrup and a pungent vodka for some reason.

Dean reckoned Dad maybe missed his calling as a bartender. A bartender who makes weird cocktails was probably happier than a dejected super scientist.

Hank plopped a Santa hat on Dean’s head and grinned because he had nothing to be in turmoil about. “You can still be goth and emo for Christmas, Dean,” said Hank. “And we can watch a bunch of Christmas themed horror movies!”

“I’m not really sure that’ll put me in the Christmas spirit, Hank.” Dean left the hat on if only because Hank would keep find ways to put it on his head all night otherwise. At least Mr. Reachy looked cute on the top of the tree. Dermott and Hank had made him a halo and wings out of metallic craft paper and felt and it ending up being surprisingly fitting.

“There is no Christmas spirit, doy,” Demott plopped down on the couch next to Dean, way too closely. “People just gotta make the best what they have and it sucks donkey balls-”

“Language!” Dad and Hatred chorused. Brock used to be the one to chide them for language, but Brock left.

Dermott rolled his eyes and grinned at Dean like they were in on a secret together. “It sucks when people tell you to just shut up and smile to make them feel better. Sometimes you just gotta go through the shitty feelings to get them out of your system.”

“Yeah, well, they’re not going away any time soon.” Dean inched into the sofa arm, terrified that Dermott might get as affectionate with him as he was with Hank. Not that there was anything wrong with that, they had an easy camaraderie that Dean definitely envied, but Dean wasn’t in the mood to be clapped on the shoulder, or hugged, or anything. He wanted to go back to the attic and forget about clones and death and souls.

“Duh, that’s how that works,” Dermott huffed. Then he suddenly bent over to grab something from under the couch. It was a present wrapped up too nicely for Hank to have wrapped because it didn’t have half a roll of tape on it. (Dad put everything that could be fit into gift bags in gift bags and what couldn’t got a sheet draped over it with a red bow. Hatred was into old fashioned brown paper with red and white twine.) “Merry Christmas, loser.”

Inside was a black leather journal, embossed with an ornate ‘D,’ with creamy pages that had lines spaced perfectly for Dean’s handwriting. “Demott, this is really nice.”

Something strange tightened in Dean’s chest. They weren’t friends or enemies, and Dermott had never known any other Deans but him. It might be one of the first gifts given to him by someone who had only met this version of himself.

“Yeah, Nikki knows this guy from the community college who’s into bookbinding,” said Dermott. He pulled a folded piece of paper and handed it to Dean when Hatred went into the kitchen. “Super hot gay guy, tatted up with sleeves, and single. Got you his number since you uh, don’t seem to get out and about these days.”

Dean wanted to be offended, but the earnestness in Dermott’s expression kept him from ripping the paper. “You’re not messing with me?”

“And just in case you’re not on board with him he’s got a sister who’s also pretty badass.” Dermott was dangerously close to putting an arm around Dean’s shoulder.

“I, uh, didn’t get you anything,” Dean winced.

How was Dermott the most well-adjusted person and classy person in the room half the time?

Right, he wasn’t a Venture.

“Then you’ll just owe me one, loser,” Dermott laughed. “C’mon Hank, let’s go get that box from the basement.”

Hank who had been quiet the exchange tweaked Dean’s ear and said, “Merry Christmas, Deano.”

“Hank, why are there pinatas on the front lawn?” Dad shouted from the kitchen. “If you invited henchmen over without asking again you’re in big trouble, mister!”

“It’s for the OSI guys,” Hank yelled back. “They promised we could break the pinatas with laser gun things if they could come over Christmas morning!”

Dean ran his palm over the cover of his new journal. His world might have been turned on its axis, but some things never changed.

And just maybe they’d get easier.

 

 ***

_Venture (v) - Dare to do or say something that may be considered audacious_

**AGE 18**

***

 

“You’re sure you’ve packed everything?” Dean eyed Jared’s two duffel bags and raised a brow. “And that the bags are within the acceptable cabin baggage measurements?”

Jared gave a sheepish grin. “It’s not a big deal, I’m just going back home to Edmonton for winter break. Anything I leave behind isn’t something I’ll need. How important can it be if I’ve forgotten it?”

“Did you make sure to take your super suit out of the dry cleaner’s bag and into your zipped garment bag?” Dean had not grown up around globe trotting adventurers and super villains without some take away. Besides he was the only person in the family who could pack a suitcase. Maybe second best, Hatred had some nifty army tricks that Dean had trouble replicating.

“Yes, dear,” said Jared like the endearment wasn’t a tease as much as an unfulfilled wish. “Last night when you reminded me. What would I do without you?”

“Get caught at the TSA and have your secret identity revealed forcing you to reinvent a new civilian identity for yourself and a pull off a complicated plot making the public ever doubt they knew the real Brown Widow.” Dean said in that matter-of-fact ‘I’ve been in this wacky super science world longer than you’ tone. “Seriously though, have a good holiday. It’s going to be strange not seeing you for a month after we’ve been living together the whole semester.”

“If you miss my ugly mug you can call,” Jared chuckled low. “But I’m sure you’ll get along fine.”

“Edmonton is two hours behind, right?” Dean pulled his jPhone out of his pocket and opened up Jared’s contact info. He felt dumb for missing Jared already. Jared with his adorably lame jokes, perfect spider pitch singing voice, and their cozy marathons of Canadian tv shows.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll pick up if you call,” said Jared. “Unless I’m doing a patrol as Brown Widow and I’m in hot pursuit.”

Dean breathed deep through his nose and screwed up his courage because he was Dean Venture. He’d lived and died a dozen times, faced dangers inexplicable to the average citizen, and had a huge weird extended family of weirdos who loved him in their own way. He could do this.

“Right, okay, so this is it,” he smoothed out the creases on Jared’s jacket like had a hundred times before over the course of the semester. A certain someone tended to be disheveled when he returned from superheroing and Dean had somehow gotten into the habit of bandaging Jared’s wounds which then carried over to making sure he looked presentable before the classes where he was a TA. Jared was perfectly capable of all those things, but Dean liked being appreciated in those small ordinary ways.

“What’s it-?”

Jared’s lips were soft from chapstick and his shoulders wonderfully strong under Dean’s hands. Dean pulled back before the kiss could be anything more than a few seconds of brief, nearly chaste contact.

“I’m super sorry if I made you uncomfortable and I’ll never bring it up again, but I thought that if I didn’t take a chance now I’d regret it a lot later and I already have way too many regrets-”

Ventures did one of two things when nervous. Put on false bravado or babble.

Dean couldn’t help those genetics.

“Can I bring it up since I liked it?” Jared did not blush often, but when he did he ducked his head and bit his lip.

“Oh!” Dean tilted his head up and let himself be kissed, lingering and hopeful. “I guess we can talk about it after winter break or during.”

“I’ll bring back some mistletoe.”

“Merry Almost-Christmas, Jared.” Dean was getting goosebumps under his hoodie, but for once not because he was scared.

It was after Jared’s taxi came to take him to the airport that three things dawned on Dean:

One, Hatred had totally called months ago before Dean realized he had romantic feelings for Jared.

Two, Hank was going to relate this to his favorite Spiderman pajamas (which needed to be burned before Hank could show them to Jared).

Three, Dad was going to flip and then get over it.

Dean couldn’t wait to see what next Christmas would be like because it certainly wouldn't be boring.

*** 


End file.
